The Last Werewolf is out and available to buy from Evernight Publishing!
For those wanting more inspiration – here is an extract:
The next item was an envelope. A very yellowed envelope, indicating it had been there a long time. It wasn’t that which surprised her, but the fact that it was addressed to her.
Why on earth would her father have a letter in his box for her? And why hadn’t he ever given it to her? Her brain flooded with questions she couldn’t answer. She shook her head. Well, there was only one way to find out. She had to open the letter, so she lay the glass down on the nearby chest of drawers.
To my darling tyttärentytär (granddaughter) Summer,
I am so sad that I cannot be there to hold you in my arms. My Emma sent me valokuva, photograph I think that word is. You are so beautiful, just like Emma when she was baby. She is so happy you are born. Never did I think she would take husband. And now she has lovely daughter.
“Granddaughter? This is from my grandmother?”
Utterly surprised, Summer glanced up at the address on the letter, having skimmed straight past it to read the body of the letter, and suddenly her legs gave way, and she slumped onto the chair. The address was in Finland.
“I have a Finnish grandmother? Wha—” Her jaw dropped in amazement. “Oh my God, that means my mother was Finnish too. Shit. Hell. Why didn’t Dad ever tell me?” She puzzled, and then laughed out loud. “Well, that explains my—our—fair coloring!”
Returning to the letter, her heart beat faster at the thought of having relatives again. Her father had been an only child, and his parents had died before she was born. She knew that her father had been about twenty years older than her mother.
I cry that you are so far away, but there are reasons why Emma will not come home. However, I think of you every day.
Summer frowned wondering what on earth the reason was that her mother had been unable to return to home, to Finland. There were so many possibilities. Perhaps she had run out of money and left for another country to find her fortune there. Or perhaps she had left her motherland for a man, falling in love and romantically abandoning her former life. Or maybe she had been in some kind of trouble, like protesting against firearm companies or fighting against global warming, or robbing a bank, or what if she was an international spy being hunted by James Bond and his ilk? She chuckled. There were indeed so many potential options, it was extremely intriguing.
But I am sure that my daughter can teach you ways of our life. To be ihmissusi —I had to stop and read letter from your mother. She uses the word werewolf. Such funny word. What I mean to say is it can be difficult for child to be one. However, when you turn into your susi, your wolf, for first time, nothing can be more exciting.
“What?” She sat stunned, her head spinning as she read that last paragraph in the letter over and over, and then when she could voice her thoughts it came out as a whisper, “My mother was a werewolf. My mother was the werewolf. The—” she stopped and read the word again slowly, enunciating it like a child sounding out a new bit of vocabulary just learned. “Ih-mis-su-si.”
Her father had rarely talked about the life of a shapeshifter, but one thing he had been clear about was that Summer was half human and half wolf shifter—a werewolf—not that there were other types of animal that a human could turn into, as that was only the stuff of stories as far as she knew. So that meant he must have been the human. No wonder he didn’t talk about being a shifter, since he couldn’t. Then something else struck her. “That means that I might not be the last werewolf. There could be others out there, in Finland.” Her jaw was practically on the floor in astonishment at this revelation. Her mind was a whirl of images, questions, sensations, all fighting for dominance, all threatening to overwhelm her already overladen emotions.
For several minutes she couldn’t do anything more than sit and let it wash over her. When she could compose her thoughts into some sensibility she looked again at the letter and saw that she had nearly finished reading it.
Your valokuva is by my bedside, and I kiss you every night. One day I hope to see you. But know, darling Summer, your grandmother loves you.
The overriding thought that was going through her head was that she knew beyond a doubt that she had to go to Finland. Her grandmother, her mummu she guessed would be the translation, may no longer be alive. Summer winced as she considered this, and a pang of sorrow hit her that she may have lost her only other relative before she had even met her. But there may be others in her family she could find, and that gave her hope, excitement.
She turned to a photo of her late father, which she had laid on his pillow next to her mother’s. “Hey, Dad. You know I have to go, don’t you? This was our home,” she said, waving an arm around the room. “But without you it isn’t the same. I need to find my family. I need to find more people like me.” Knowing that part of her was using this as an excuse to get away from her immense sadness, she still felt the urge to do this, almost an impulse. Other feelings like intrigue and anticipation were dampening down the rawer emotions.
Taking a look at the new picture of her mother, on the corner of which she had attached the ribbon, Summer added more quietly, “And I need to find out what happened to my mother and why she left Finland, her home.”
Also pop over to Sizzling Hot Books where Susan and I have written a blog about our collaboration on this book.